


the world is good and we belong here

by ironccap



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Non-consensual Hickey, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:48:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25773862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironccap/pseuds/ironccap
Summary: "Your eyes, they light up when you smile," Andrés mumbled, "you should smile more. Happy is... Such a good look. On you, I mean," Apparently, his goal in this drunken state was to embarrass Martín. He could bear with it, it was fine.But then, Andrés spoke up again, and it wasn't fine anymore. It was not and Martín needed some air."Martín, I want to kiss you."Or: the drunken confessions fic I wrote for myself (and for Ele) because I needed some fluff.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 15
Kudos: 122





	the world is good and we belong here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ele_amato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ele_amato/gifts).



Martín had been enjoying his night. He'd been drinking, sure. But he hadn't overdone it. Not after last time, when he'd apparently climbed on and fallen off the wooden table in the garden, right in front of the passing monks. To be honest, he couldn't remember anything from that night. But Andrés had told him the following morning and the headache, ready to split open his brain, had eventually convinced him to tone it down next time.

So, that's why he was now remotely sober, sitting on the couch, lazily reading his Bank of Spain notes again. 

He heard the door to the living room open, and light footsteps followed shortly after. He didn't need to turn around to know that it was Andrés. 

Andrés walked over to the couch, plopping down on it, right into Martín's personal space. That wasn't unusual; they were used to sharing each other's space in crappy hotels and tiny cars, whenever they had to hide after yet another successful heist. 

What was unusual, though, was the fact that Andrés was reeking of alcohol. 

"Andrés, did you drink any of that mojito that was still in the can when I went inside?" Martín asked, already knowing the answer.

" _Nooooooooo_ ," Andres said, dragging out the word and resting his head on Martín's shoulder.

Right, he was full on wasted, then.

"Andrés, are you lying?" he asked.

This earned him a snort from Andrés, who, for some reason, decided to snuggle his face in the crook of Martín's neck. 

" _Yeeeessss_ ," Andrés slurred, a tiny giggle escaping his lips. And God, if that weren't the most adorable thing Martín had seen in his entire life.

Still, he decided to shuffle a bit further away from Andrés. Not because he wanted to. But because he thought it would be better for the both of them. Andrés was drunk, after all.

"Martín," Andrés said. That made him focus his eyes on Andrés' face again. He saw the other man look rather sad. Or confused. Or maybe just drunk, Martín couldn't really tell.

"Martín, I am very sad," Andrés answered the unspoken question, pouting. It was quite a sight. 

"Why are you sad, _cariño_?" Martín asked, cringing at the unintentional pet name slipping out.

"Because I don't have eyes like yours. They are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he answered. Right, that was definitely new. Usually, Andrés was sad over his ex-wives. Or about his illness. But sure, Martín's eyes, why not.

"Thanks, I need them to see," Martín deadpanned. Because, of course he did. What else should he say? Andrés complimenting him was something that made his brain short circuit.

"They light up when you smile," Andrés mumbled, "you should smile more. Happy is... Such a good look. On you, I mean," Apparently, his goal in this drunken state was to embarrass Martín. He could bear with it, it was _fine_.

But then, Andrés spoke up again, and it wasn't fine anymore. It was not and Martín needed some air.

"Martín, I want to kiss you."

Martín emerged from the couch completely, putting a lot of distance between him and Andrés. He could hear him giggle softly. The bastard. 

"N-no, you don't," he said, laughing nervously.

"But I do," Andrés answered.

"You're drunk, Andrés. You don't know what you're saying." Martín said, trying to calm down his erratic breathing.

"I know perfectly what I am saying. I want to feel your soft lips colliding with mine." Andrés admitted. 

Martín wanted to slap him. How dare he say that in such a poetic way. How dare he make Martín's heart go into overdrive like that. How _dare_ he.

"Stop talking, Andrés." It was the only thing Martín could say to keep himself sane.

“Why, _cariño_?” the other man asked, raising his eyebrows and pouting his lips. Looking innocent. As if he was oblivious to Martín’s current state of mind. Maybe he was.

“Just, stop. You don’t know what you’re saying,” Martín said. He was heading for the kitchen cabinet to get Andrés and himself some water. His throat had gone dry.

“No, Martín. Everything is as clear as glass. Or is it crystal?” Andrés said, more to himself than anyone else. His confused, pensive look had no business being that adorable.

“Crystal clear!” he eventually declared, satisfied that he had found the answer, “Everything is crystal clear!”

Martín yawned, looking at his watch. It was a quarter past midnight already, and he felt his eyelids becoming droopy. 

“Andrés, let’s get to bed,” Martín said, his voice mirroring his fatigue. He regretted the words as soon as he saw the big smirk spreading across Andrés’ face, knowing that he would purposefully misinterpret them.

“Each to their own bed, Andrés,” Martín insisted. He loved Andrés, but he didn’t know how much longer he could take the drunken flirting. It was excruciating. He had reached the couch again and was ready to help Andrés get up from it, to direct him to his room. 

Andrés left the couch slowly, putting a lot of force on Martín’s supporting hand and arm when he got up. Martín tried to give him support so he wouldn’t fall over. Andrés turned himself around, ending up only centimetres removed from Martin’s face

“Don’t you wanna _daaance_?” he mumbled against his ear, making the hairs on Martín’s neck stand up. 

“A-Andrés,” Martín began, stutter evident in his voice. He coughed once, clearing his throat, and started over, “Andrés, I don’t think that’s the best idea. You are very wasted.”

Apparently, drunk Andrés hadn’t heard Martín, or he just ignored it, because before he knew it, Andrés had his arms thrown around Martín's waist. He started swaying the both of them around the room, humming “Ti amo” under his breath. Martín had to suppress a laugh, finding it ironic how Andrés decided to pick that song, out of all the available ones. The song he’d dedicated to his, now ex-, wife Tatiana, back then, on their wedding day. The same day on which Martín had consumed three bottles of vodka and cried himself to sleep to the sound of them enjoying their wedding night in the next room. It was certainly not his fondest memory, but sadly the only one attached to that particular song.

Martín got shaken out of his pathetic thoughts by a sudden wetness in his neck. It was only then that he realised Andrés had stepped even closer to him, had pressed their bodies together and was currently making a poor attempt at either leaving a hickey in his neck, or licking it. 

“Andrés! What are you-”

His sentence got cut short by Andrés actually sucking on his neck. It surprised Martín so much, that he accidentally misstepped, causing Andrés to lose his balance, toppling the both of them over. The couch was there to break their fall, but Martín would have rather preferred to fall on the floor instead, since he ended up right on top of Andrés, which was, in a way, a lot more painful.

"Did you just fall for me?" Andrés said, giggling like only drunk people could. Martín wanted so badly to just roll his eyes and act as if he wasn't affected by the situation at all. To get up and head to bed. Andrés had other plans, though. 

Before Martín knew it, he felt Andrés' hands on his body again, sliding down to his waist. He saw Andrés lean in to resume his previous activity, and it took all of his willpower for Martín to lean back and prevent it from happening again. As much as he would love to feel Andrés' lips, to let the other man mark him everywhere he wanted, he couldn't allow it. He couldn't and wouldn't take advantage of a drunken Andrés. 

He stood up from the couch once again, holding out his hand for Andrés.

"No more dancing, you need to sleep," Martín said sternly. His tone signaled that there was no room to argue.

To his surprise, Andrés nodded. He took Martín's outstretched hand to get up and they walked out of the living room. 

On the way to Andrés' room, he stumbled almost three times and Martín had to physically support him from not collapsing onto the floor. He felt a wave of relieve rush over him when he finally reached Andrés' bedroom, without having injured either himself or his drunk friend on the way there. 

He gently made Andrés sit on the bed and then went to take place beside him. He turned around and opened his mouth, ready to tell Andrés to take off his shoes, when he saw the other man move his arms towards him.

“Martín.”

He had about two seconds to take in the situation, before Andrés put his fingers around his collar, dragging him closer. 

He felt the hot breath of the other man ghost over his lips for a split second, before Andrés hungrily smashed their mouths together. 

The kiss was wet, sloppy and a bit uncoordinated, and not even two seconds in, Andrés started poking his tongue against Martín's lips. This gesture made Martín unable to think, his thoughts clouded by the feeling of Andrés' tongue. He allowed entrance, then, and let himself get consumed by the other man by returning the kisses he was receiving. 

It was only when they parted for air again, that Martín remembered the current state Andrés was in. 

" _Martiiiin_ , you 'lright?" Andrés slurred, his beautiful, swollen lips forming that adorable pout again.

Martín's shock and realisation must have been obvious on his face if even a drunk-out-of-his-mind Andrés had picked up on them. He tried to calm down his crazy heartbeat and swallowed quickly. He didn't want to make this a big deal. Andrés was drunk, after all. He didn't know what he was doing. It meant nothing, it was just a kiss. He should just tell Andrés that he was fine, a simple 'yes' and then he'd order him to sleep.

What he said instead, was

"Why did you just kiss me?"

Andrés had the nerve to look surprised at his question. As if he hadn't just created a new fucking core memory for Martín, something that would always be present in his mind.

"Because _I loooveee youuu_ ," Andrés mumbled, shuffling closer to Martín again. He allowed it, allowed Andrés to put his head in his lap. 

"You don't mean that," Martín said, sighing, "you're drunk and you won't say the same thing tomorrow. But it's fine." _I'm used to heartbreak_ , he thought.

"Why don't you believe me," Andrés asked, a sad tone colouring his voice. Martín sighed deeply. He wanted to believe Andrés, so desperately. But he was scared he'd get his heart trampled on and thrown away the very next day if he did. Andrés would no doubt wake up with the worst hangover in the world, and there were two possible ways things could play out. 

"I don't believe you because you're drunk. Tomorrow morning, you're just going to let me down slowly, say that you didn't know what you were doing. That it was a mistake," Martín answered. That was the first option.

"Or, you will pretend that this didn't happen and we will never speak of it again." And that was the second one. Neither of the options promised anything good, both of them would mean the end of a friendship.

“You think I’ll regret it,” Andrés answered. It wasn’t an actual question, but more of a statement. 

“Well, yes. But it’s okay, it wasn’t fair of me to reciprocate the kiss anyway, not like that,” Martín said. 

When Andrés didn't respond to that, Martín looked down and saw that the Spaniard had closed his eyes and was softly snoring in his lap. He stopped playing with the other's hair, something he'd absent-mindedly started doing, and carefully laid Andrés on his bed in a proper way, gentle as to not wake him up. 

He draped the bedsheets over him carefully and positioned himself on the big couch in the corner of the room. 

He closed his eyes, exhausted from everything that had happened during the day, and fell asleep almost immediately, with the feeling of the soft touch of Andrés' lips still seemingly present on his.

* * *

Opening his eyes again, Martín felt a bit disoriented. He turned himself around, nearly falling off the couch in the process, before he remembered the events from the night before again. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, sitting upright. 

Andrés was still snoring softly, so Martín decided that now was the ideal moment to leave the room. (He wasn’t a coward, he just couldn’t deal with heartbreak at eight in the morning.) 

He got up from the couch and tiptoed to the door. He’d almost made it out of the room, if it weren’t for the old hinges of the door squeaking loudly, betraying his departure. 

“Martín?” Andrés’ voice rasped through the room, sounding a bit lower than usual. 

Martín let out a string of curse words under his breath before he turned around like a deer caught in the headlights. 

“Martín, stay,” Andrés said.

Martín was about to protest, say that he had to get up and make breakfast, that Sergio would come over, that he would have to go and greet the monks first, any excuse, as lame as it sounded, would do. But all of his arguments died a quick death when he noticed the pleading puppy eyes Andrés was giving him.

“Fine,” Martín answered, ready to retake his previous position on the couch.

“No, c’mere,” Andrés mumbled. 

Martín stopped dead in his tracks. He turned to Andrés, his eyebrows raised. 

“What?” he asked.

“I said, come here. Next to me,” Andrés said, patting the space beside him in the bed. He and Martin used to do this a lot, just sit in bed together, talk about nothing and everything important at the same time. But Martín felt out of place, now, with the events of the previous day still vivid in his mind. Still, he gave in and went to sit next to Andrés. 

They sat in silence for what felt like hours, but was probably only a minute or two, before Andrés reached out for Martín’s hand, intertwining their fingers together.

“Andrés, what are you doing?” Martín said, confused on what was going on. 

Andrés went to sit a bit more upright in the bed and Martín saw him swallowing deeply, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat. He took his time before answering, but no amount of time could have prepared Martín for the words that followed.

“I don’t regret it.”

_What_?

“What are you talking ab-,” Martín said, his sleep-clouded brain still not one hundred percent present. He turned himself towards Andrés a bit more, forcing himself to look up to the other man’s face. He ended up staring right into beautiful brown eyes, radiating nothing but love and warmth towards him. 

Andrés couldn’t possibly be talking about the previous night, couldn’t he? 

_ You think I’ll regret it,  _ the conclusion Andrés had made out of Martín’s words, echoed through his mind. 

“The kiss. I don’t regret it. Any of it,” Andrés said, confirming the thoughts Martín had tried to bury away deeply, in fear of ending up disappointed and hurt. But here Andrés was, digging them out and laying them bare. 

“You don’t?” Martín said, trying to calm down his heart thumping in his throat.

“I don’t,” Andrés said, letting go of Martín’s hand, only to put his own on his cheek instead, “I told you before, I don’t know why you seem so surprised,” 

Martín laughed at that, mostly because of the shock he felt washing over him.

“You were drunk, Andrés. You said a lot of things,” Martín said. He didn’t bring up the L-word. (Again, he was no coward. Just too tired for this.) 

“I know, Martín. I said many things. And I’ll tell you something,” Andrés said, shuffling closer to Martín. 

“Y-yeah?” Martín said, getting more and more nervous as he tried to ignore the hot breath of Andrés on his neck.

“I meant them all,” Andrés whispered against his ear. 

“So you…?” _You love me, then?_ Martin wanted to ask. But the words struggled to come out. Andrés seemed to understand his question, though.

“I love you, Martín,” he said. The four words seemed so simple, and yet Martín couldn’t possibly wrap his head around them. Andrés _loved_ him. It felt surreal to hear that, for real this time, without any booze making the words easier to slip out. This was utterly and thoroughly Andrés, laying bare his heart before Martín on a silver platter, pure and raw.

It was up to Martín whether he’d accept it or not. 

And he did.

He softly took Andrés’ face into his hands, leaned in slowly, and pressed his lips to the other’s. The kiss was soft, not like the first one. This kiss wasn’t heated, wasn’t sloppy. It was a featherlight touch, with the promise of more to come. Andrés reciprocated the kiss almost immediately, following the pace Martín had decided. They kept exchanging tiny kisses and when they separated, Martín didn’t pull away. Instead, he stayed close, whispering into Andrés’ mouth the words he’d wanted to tell him since the day he’d met him.

“I love you, Andrés.”

(See? Not a coward.)

He then separated himself from Andrés, lying down on his pillow again with the biggest lovestruck smile on his face. Andrés mirrored his movements and lowered himself too, lying face to face with Martín, only centimetres from each other. 

Apparently that wasn’t close enough, because Andrés shuffled even more towards Martín, putting his face in the crook of his neck, just like he’d done the night before on the couch.

Martín sighed happily. Finally, it had all worked out for him. He'd found the love of his life, who loved him back all the same. He'd found the one person who meant more to him than anything else.

He'd found his **_home_**.

**Author's Note:**

> You can always follow me on my [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/hannib4l).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
